The Weasleys' Mysterious Customer
by Kiana228
Summary: Fred, George, and Lee discover a dangerous new powder in their lab. They know it's evil, and they know it's powerful, but with Dumbledore missing, they have to handle the new dangers on their own.
1. The Discovery of Some

**The Weasleys' Mysterious Customer**

By: Kiana

Disclaimer: HP isn't mine.

Note: My friend Rachel says she _really_ liked this one, but I have my doubts about it. That might (likely) be because it took so long, but I need reassurance either way, so please review, even if you don't read the whole thing! I'd really appreciate any advice you can give about my writing, since I put a lot of effort into the writing on this, and want to improve, as always. Thanks!

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_Tap. Tap. Tap. _

Swimming.

_ Where am I?_

Someone, somewhere, opened his eyes.

_ Who am I?_

A cloud of dust had settled over him as he had lain unconscious and everything around him as well. There were bodies on the floor. Dead? He didn't know. But things were coming back, it seemed. Memories floated just out of his reach, like butterflies teasing him with their brilliant colors and soft looking wings, but always darting aside just when he reached for them.

_ Butterflies?_

He shook his head, and a cloud of dust billowed up, stirred in the air. The boy gave a hoarse cough, his throat thick with mucus from the inhaled dust. What was this stuff around him? It was a sort of fine grey powder, almost like ash, but not as fluffy. No, it certainly wasn't ash. Ash didn't glitter. Some kind of magic accident then, he guessed. Yes, that was it. He was starting to remember.

The boy felt something small inside of him stir.

_Fred._

Another memory! He'd had Fred ever since he was born, and before that even. Fred was his twin. Fred was one of those bodies on the floor but he was alive, and now he stirred back, regaining consciousness just as his brother had done before.

The twin groaned, and tenderly raised his hand to his forehead. Pain. He opened his eyes.

He gave a start, and attempted to say something which came out only as a hacking exclamation. "George!" he cried again.

_My name!_ Suddenly memories came flooding back, triggered by the information. An accident. It had been an experiment, but it had gone wrong, very wrong. This was no joke, though that's what it started out as. Fred and George Weasley had accidentally discovered something deadly, something dangerous. …Wait. That wasn't a memory. Just a feeling. George looked at the grey powder again and shuddered. It was evil, that's what it was. He had no idea how he knew, but the more he thought about it, the more certain he felt. It was his heart. Evil. Beware. A fair enough warning. Now it was their responsibility to see that no one else ever found out. But how? _We must tell Dumbledore!_

Fred wiped the dust from his mouth and eyes with the inside of his shirt. "Dumbledore's gone, George, and I don't think anyone could tell us where he is now. Even McGonagall doesn't know."

The Weasley twins could not read each other's thoughts, contrary to how it sometimes seemed. But being both wizards, and sharing the natural bond their twinship had created in them inside the womb, they could sometimes feel thoughts and feelings from each other. Emotions were always hard to fake or hide.

Fred and George turned simultaneously to look at the third body which lay motionless on the floor. George gave it a nudge with his foot.

"Reviveo," Fred said, pointing his wand, which he'd found flung across the room.

Lee Jordan hacked up a lung.

"Good to see you're alright, man," George said, patting him on the back.

"What happened?"

"It might take a while to come back to you," George said. "But do you remember our joke shop?"

"Yes."

"Remember our experiment with floo powder, baking soda, and Exploding Sage?"

"Oh yeah, and putting it in plastic shells. Of course I do."

"Well, as I'm just beginning to remember, right before this all happened, you added a new ingredient."

There was a pause. Suddenly a look of horror came over Lee's face. "You don't mean that…" He said, clutching George's sleeves. "NO!"

George nodded. "It was the thing that knocked us all unconscious. This place was our lab, and now look what's become of it."

Lee and Fred looked at the huge warehouse that had been loaned out to them to use as a lab. It had been given to them by Minerva McGonagall of all people, and they had quickly filled it with their supplies and unfinished inventions. Now all of that was gone, and it was filled with a thick layer of silver dust.

"Where is everything?" Fred asked, calm as only a person sufficiently shocked can be.

"Your guess is as good as mine." George shook his head. "It's gone now."

"All our work…" Lee groaned, putting his head in his hands and giving a soft cry of exasperation.

"I'm more worried about what happened to the stuff that was in here," George said. "Why did it disappear, or be destroyed, but we're here and we're ok? It doesn't make sense."

"Maybe it doesn't affect organic things," suggested Fred.

"The mice." Lee said, without looking up. "The mice we used to carry around spy packs are gone."

"Well then, maybe…" Fred grasped with his mind for another excuse. There had to be a reason!

"Maybe we were unharmed because we're the ones who created it," Lee suggested. "Maybe it has a mind-- it is magic, after all-- and it doesn't want to hurt its maker!"

"Possible, but unlikely." George said. "I don't think its something we can tell by guess-work alone. I feel afraid for this, and I have no idea why. But it feels like the time during the Chamber of Secrets when Tom Riddle possessed my sister. It feels evil: evil in disguise. So well concealed that if I hadn't seen the effect it has here, I'd write it off any other time. This has called it to our attention, though, and this time we can't ignore it."

For a moment, the three boys sat in silence, amazed and a little fearful. Lee shivered.

"Guys, let's get out of here," he said to the Weasley twins. "I don't like the feeling in this place."

"Yeah, let's go. We need to do something about this," Fred agreed. "And we can't tell mom."

"How about Tonks or Moody?" asked George.

"Moody's too paranoid," replied Fred. "And Tonks wouldn't know what to do with it."

"Who else in the order is there? Just Snape and Lupin, and Lupin hasn't come out of his room except a few times which I can count on one hand. I haven't heard him speak at all since Sirius…"

"Shut up, George," Fred muttered.

The room became very quiet again, and the silence seemed to echo in the cavernous warehouse, now that it was bare of its wares.

Lee stirred. "Hey, guys? I better go, my dad's expecting me home, and I've no idea how long we were out. You'd better get going, too."

"You're right. See you tomorrow, Lee."

"Yeah, bye."

"Go in through a window or something, so your mom doesn't catch sight of your clothes, ok?"

"Ok. Thanks, Lee," Fred said.

Lee left quickly, and the twins hurried home as well. They were no longer thinking about the silver dust, or the missing objects. They had something much worse to worry about now: The wrath of Molly Weasley.

The Weasley twins shivered, as the walked together down Grimuald street, headed for the Order of the Phoenix HQ.

"Mum's going to have a row if she sees us like this," muttered Fred.

"I wish we could apparate," sighed George. "Then there'd be no problem."

The boys agreed that if they crawled through the bathroom window, they might be able to make it to the stairs before Molly or Sirius's mum saw them.

"Anyone in there?" whispered George, as he struggled to hold his brother up to see through the window.

"No, nobody," Fred said. "Give me another boost, the window's open and everything."

There was a grunt and a thump as Fred managed to slide through the window (launched by George), and landed on his face.

"Uhff."

"You okay?"

"Yeah, hang on, I'll go grab us some clothes," Fred said, leaning out the window.

"'Kay." George sat down in the bushes to wait. He prayed that mum was in the kitchen, and wouldn't catch Fred as he crossed the door to get to the stairs. Hopefully no one else was around. Lupin stayed in his room, and the rest were usually at Hogwarts, or chasing down the Azkaban escapees. If Snape were around, that would almost be worse—

George felt something lightly touch on his temple. "I wouldn't be sneakin around out here in the brush if I was you," a rough voice said softly in his ear.

George gave a start of surprise and found his eyes locked on the eyes of Mad-eye Moody, sitting not three feet from him, his wand still trained on his head.

"You scared me," George said.

"I know." Moody replied. "What're you doin out here, creeping in like a criminal all covered in ashes? Been to some sort of grand sabbat, have ye?"

"Stop pointing that at me, Moody," George said, eyeing the ready wand with uncertainty. "And don't accuse me of Satan worship. You know that's ridiculous."

"I aint usin it in that context boy—we've a new devil people're worshiping. You know him. Tall, red-eyed, snakey chap. Voldemort?"

"That's even more absurd."

"Is it? One can never be too vigilant."

"Yeah, well, you know me better than that, though."

"Oh, do I? Need I remind you of the many wizards done in because they trusted their friends? James Potter and Pettigrew? Or little Harry, in the Triwizard tournament with my imposter? Sirius Black and Kretcher? Use your head boy, or you'll end up without one." Moody lowered his wand.

"Now. Mind tellin me why you're creepin around back here all covered in soot, or do I have t' torture it outta yeh?"

George wasn't sure if that was meant to be a joke or not. He never could tell with Moody, because even when he was trying to be funny, the man was creepy. "There was an accident at the Lab," he explained. "Fred, Lee and I were trying to make a powder or something that would make you hypnotized for a few seconds."

"Sounds like the impetuous curse," Moody scowled.

"No, it's not like that!" George exclaimed. "It just draws your attention… sorry, I should have used a different word. So you could put it on a bouncy ball and then have it bounce off all the walls while your friend tries to follow with his eyes and keep up with it."

"Oh," Moody said.

"And they'd fall down. It's funny," added George weakly.

"I see," Moody lied.

"George!" hissed Fred from above. "I got your clothes!"

"Thanks," George said, putting his arms out to catch them.

"Can you please not let my mum know about this?" asked George. "She already doesn't approve of the shop, and it was really just a little bit of an explosion, not worth the fuss she'll make about it. I don't want to get in trouble."

"'Coarse yeh don't. I won't tell Molly. But I will mention it to yer dad… just in case."

The next morning, George awoke to the sound of Fred's voice in his ear as his brother shook him awake.

"Get up, George. We have to go to Hogwart's."

"Fred, we're not going to school anymore, remember? We quit." George moaned, trying to roll over.

Fred caught him by the arm. "We're going to school today. We have to tell someone about this discovery. You know how dangerous it is."

"Ok, ok. Is Lee coming?"

"We're going alone. Lee doesn't know everything, and it's better that way."

George hung his head, looking away. "Oh right. The extra ingredient."

"We're going to find McGonagall."

"A little sunshine, a little muck.

Add some water, wish me luck.

Now plant the seed, and grow, plants, GROW!

Stretch your roots to the classrooms below!

Fertilized with poo, weeded with care,

Now look what we've got under there!

Add some worms, just for touch,

And a compost heap? It's not too much!

Water, water, water and dirt---"

"Peeves!"

"What?" groaned the ghost, rolling his eyes. "This school could use a little beauty. It has to make up for your ugly face."

Fred and George strode down the hallway to where Peeves was making his garden.

"Oh, you two are back? Welcome, welcome. You just couldn't leave a poor ghost in peace for a while, could you?"  
"Oh come now, Peeves!" Fred exclaimed. "You know you hate peace, and the only reason you don't like us is because we always had better pranks than you."

"That's not true!" cried Peeves, throwing the rest of the water in his bucket at them but only soaking George in the knees.

"Now look what you've made me do," Peeves said, looking mournfully at the empty bucket. "How will my garden bloom without water?"

"That's not a garden, it's a pile of slop," said George.

"You can't put a garden in the middle of the hall anyways," Fred added. "People need to walk here."

"So? You put a swamp in the hall when that toad was here."

"We have to see McGonagall, Peeves. Is she teaching right now? The Bloody Baron told us we should check in her classroom first, and if she wasn't there, he'd take us to the teacher's lounge," said Fred.

Peeves grumbled, suspecting Fred was lying, but not willing to risk angering the Bloody Baron. "Everyone takes advantage of me with the bloody Bloody Baron," he muttered, moving aside for the twins.

"She's teaching fourth year!" hollered Peeves when they were nearly down the hallway. "You can't go in anyway until class is over!"

No sooner had the words flown out his mouth than the school bell chimed, and students began to pour out of the classes.

Peeves hovered dejectedly over his lonely garden, watching them go. "Aw, Bugger."

"Professor!" George called, as they fought the flow of fourth years trying to get out of the room. "We need to talk to you!"

"George?" McGonagall said, showing only mild surprise.

"Can we have a private word with you?" Fred asked. "It's important."

"Couldn't you have come at a better time? Like before school?" she asked.  
"We tried," Fred told her, "but Hagrid was going to come to take us over the border, but he was late."

"I wonder why," McGonagall said sarcastically. "What kind of creature is it this time? A Poison Buckjawed Egriie's Serpant? Good Lord."

"We need to talk to Dumbledore," explained Fred urgently as the students for McGonagall's next class began to pour through the door. "We've discovered something in our joke shop lab."

"Something dangerous," George added.

"Please, do you have any idea where he might have gone?"

McGonagall looked down sadly at the boys, and just for a moment, the boys thought she looked old and full of grief. "No one knows where Dumbledore's gone off too." She said softly. "Even I don't know. I don't know if he's going to come back."

"Well of course he'll come back," George assured her. "I mean, he's Dumbledore!" His voice faltered as he saw her look away, raising a hand to her lips. "…Won't he?"

"I've told you, I don't know," McGonagall whispered. "Come into my office."

McGonagall shut the door with a click. "What do you want to tell Dumbledore?"

"We need to tell him we've discovered a new… well, it's kind of powder-like, and we think that it could destroy the world in the wrong hands." George said.

"Be reasonable. What makes you think so?"

"The original recipie we had used floo powder, baking soda, and Exploding Sage," explained Fred. "It seemed to work alright for what we wanted it to do, but it didn't activate for a few hours. So we added another ingredient to the recipe. That's what Lee thinks caused the explosion, but he's wrong. George added something else to the floo powder before we even began. The nature of the ingredient is the reason we suspect it to be the cause."

McGonagall looked skeptic. "You truly believe this thing you discovered could destroy the world? Did you test it? How come you aren't destroyed?"

"We haven't tested it the way you're thinking," Fred said. McGonagall frowned. "We only had a little powder when it happened, because we'd already divided it into pill-sized dosages. There was probably less than half a thimble, and it caused a reaction that obliterated our lab."

"Not obliterated. You're exaggerating, Fred." George said. He turned to McGonagall again. "What he means is, everything was gone and we were unconscious. The only things left after we woke up were us and a lot of grey dust."

"It was then that you received a feeling of evil?" McGonagall asked carefully.

"Yes."

McGonagall was silent. Finally, she sat down at her desk and began to take out parchment and a quill. "Many times the warnings of children go unheeded by adults simply because they are young," she explained. "_I_ believe it is foolish to ignore something that could save a life. It happens all too often that unlikely people may discover dangerous things, and I will not have it happen again in this school." She dipped the quill in ink and began to write.

"What is that, Professor?" George asked.

"A report." She said. "I agree with you on one thing at least—Dumbledore must know."

Fred and George exchanged hesitant looks.

"You don't plan to mail that, do you?" asked Fred. "If that's intercepted…"

"It will not be," she assured them. "Fawkes will deliver it." McGonagall signed her name and sealed the letter with wax from a candle on her desk. "I will see that he gets it right away," she said, standing. "And then, I have a class to teach. You should go home. Hogwarts has begun a no visitors rule on campus. If you don't have visitor passes, you can be fined."

The teacher gave a small laugh when she saw the frightened looks on the boys' faces. "Don't worry," she assured them. "I won't tell."

"Thanks," sighed George.

"Just be careful you're not discovered by certain _other_ teachers at this school. As well as certain staff members and their cats."

"I think we can find our way out and avoid them at the same time," Fred assured her.

"Yes, you certainly have managed it before," McGonagall agreed. "Now, I really must be mailing this. You're dismissed."

McGonagall headed out the door, Fred and George not far behind.

"Stay at your shop," she said, suddenly turning around. "I want you to act like everything is normal, because if we don't speak of it or make a big deal of this, it might be okay. Just stick to your daily routine and whatever you do, don't touch this stuff again."

"Believe us, we won't," Fred assured her, following his brother out.

Business was slow as usual at the Joke Shop. With kids at school and their lab reduced to four walls and several inches of ash, there wasn't much for any of them to do to pass the time. They didn't move or speak, because whenever they started to talk, the conversation would invariably move to the mysterious powder which they had been warned not to talk about anymore. With nothing to distract them, they waited eagerly, watching the door like starving cats waiting beside a mouse hole.

"It needs a name," Lee said, finally breaking the silence.

The twins looked up, amazed at how plainly he brought it up, after all three of them had been avoiding the subject all day.

"I know I'm not supposed to talk about it, but really, what are we going to call it?" asked Lee. " 'The Stuff' doesn't seem to fit. Can't we think of something cooler?"

"Söme." George said, looking back at the door.

"What?" Fred asked.

"I think we should call it Söme." George repeated. "It's just a made-up word."

Fred and Lee exchanged looks.

"I like it," Lee said.

"So do I." Fred agreed.

"You made that up just now, George?" asked Lee. "It's a good name."

"It seemed to fit," George shrugged. "Anyway, all names have to be made up at some point. And it's easier to just come up with something new than to try to find the right words for it out of the ones that already exist."

"Let's stop talking about it, guys," Fred reminded them.

The store fell silent again, and they were back to their steady vigil as they waited for customers.

Suddenly, unannounced by the chiming bell which announced the arrival of customers (which was actually the sound of a scream like someone being murdered), someone appeared in the store.

"Hey, no apparating," Fred said, pointing angrily to the sign.

"I don't take orders from children," the newly arrived wizard said, turning his greasy head to stare at them.

"Professor Snape!" Exclaimed Lee. "What's he doing here?"

"I doubt your friends can answer that, Mr. Jordan. I suggest in the future asking a person who can." Snape said. "Professor McGonagall sent me here."

"What!" Fred exclaimed. "What were you talking to _her_ about?"

"Please, keep your robe on." Snape rolled his eyes. "What do you expect? She was telling me about your little invention of course."

"How could she?" George asked, slamming both hands on the counter, standing up.

"Calm _down_, Mr. Weasley." Snape sighed. "I'm in the Order as well. She sent me to get some of your magic dust. She thought it would be a good idea if I studied it to find out just what it is that this stuff does, so we know just what it is we should beware of about it. That _is_ alright with you?"

"I suppose," muttered Fred, through clenched teeth. "Come with me. I'll take you to the lab."

Snape looked at the remains of the lab, his expression emotionless as he scooped some of the silvery dust into a bag.

"I'll take this back to Hogwarts and McGonagall shall send an owl when the results are ready," Snape said. He looked over at Fred, who was eyeing the dust in the bag suspiciously.

"Too attached to your little invention to give it over to my care?" he asked with a self-satisfied smirk. "Don't worry, I'll keep it perfectly safe. If you're worried about Death Eaters finding it, I assure you you have nothing to worry about."

Fred shot a glare at his former teacher. "Harry told us about you and your "past allegiance," as the grown-ups so politely call it. Don't think that's still secret. If anything happens, we'll know who to suspect, so you better make sure the stuff stays safe."

"Since when do you talk so boldly to me?" Snape snarled. "I may not be able to expel you anymore, but I'm still your senior, and I'm doing you a favor. So you and your brother had better find a little more respect in your hearts or you'll learn respect at the end of Molly's wand."

With one last contemptuous look, Snape disapparated with a clap of noise.

Fred rolled his eyes, walking away. "Git."

Days went by, and the boys began to grow concerned about their mysterious powder -- _Söme_. Three days passed and they started to wonder. Six days passed and they started to doubt. Eleven days passed and soon they began to get angry, uttering cruel words about Snape and fierce accusations when no one was around.

"I knew it," Fred groaned one day at their store. "I shouldn't have let him take it. I knew he was going to do something like this."

"It's all right, Fred, no one blames you," Lee said.

"Maybe we should go back to Hogwarts, or send a owl," mumbled Fred.

"I don't think Snape did it," protested George. "I mean, sure he was a death eater before, but now he's part of the Order of the Phoenix. If he does anything wrong, he'll have Dumbledore to answer to. You know what they say about You-Know-Who and Dumbledore."

"He was the only one You-Know-Who feared, yeah. So what?" Fred asked.

"So if Snape were to risk angering Dumbledore, I don't think You-Know-Who would be so quick to take him in. Snape already betrayed him once, and with the anger of Dumbledore on top of that, I doubt he'd be welcomed, much less protected."

Lee leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the counter. "You've sure thought about this a lot, George. What happens if they decide that Söme is a worthy enough bribe to get their protection? We agreed it is dangerous enough to be a threat."

"Still, he wouldn't know whether it was good enough or not until he gave it to them," George said. "And by then, the gamble has been made."

Just then, with perfect timing, an owl flew into the window glass.

"Crazy bird," Fred said.

"I told you we should put up eagle silhouettes," George said. "Someone go see what he has."

Lee hopped up and picked the owl off the ground where it lay stunned. "He's got a letter for us, guys!" He called.

Lee dumped the disoriented owl on the desk and hastily tore open the letter.

Dear Fred, George, and Lee,

The results are in. You were right when you told me you had a bad feeling. It's a good thing you came—please return to Hogwarts this evening or ASAP. Your visitor passes are enclosed.

Prof. McGonagall

Lee looked up from the letter. "Guess we were wrong," he shrugged.

"Finally!" exclaimed Fred, giving a relieved smile. "Looks like our little disaster is for real, mates," he said.

"If this goes bad we'll get in the history books," George murmured with awe. Lee reached across the table and smacked his head.

"Don't think things like that, George!" He hissed. "If this goes bad, we'll be shunned forever. Sure, you can dress it up with fancy phrases like 'our names will be remembered in infamy' and rubbish like that, and it makes it sound desirable. But when it comes down to it, we'll be despised the same way Sirius is by the rest of the world—the same way we despise Pettigrew. Is that what you want?"

"Sorry, Jeeze," George muttered. "I wasn't serious."

"Still." Lee looked around, lowering his voice. "I'm scared."

A stillness came over the three of them, as Fred and George stared a little uncertainly at him. What were they supposed to say?

"I'm sure no one will find it," George said hastily. Fred quickly agreed with him.

"No. You felt the evil, didn't you?" Lee said, shivering. "That day, when I woke up, I felt like I was covered in… in dead things. I don't know how to describe it, but when I woke up it was with a kind of subliminal horror that was all over and inside me. You must know what I mean. How can you describe evil? You just feel it, and that's what I felt. You said it yourself Fred—or was it George…? _Evil in disguise_, you called it. That sort of thing can not be so easily dismissed."

Before either twin could answer, they were interrupted by the sound of a scream.

"Good morning!" Fred called as he leapt to the desk, a big artificial smile on his face as he tried to push back Lee's words in his mind. All the talk of evil was creeping him out.

"Hello," said the customer. He stood in the middle of the store for a moment, glancing at the merchandise, but moving only his eyes. He cleared his throat. "You wouldn't by any chance happen to have some Powder, would you?" he asked.

Fred, George, and Lee froze. The room seemed to have dropped several degrees, and the silence was ominous.

"What sort of powder," Fred asked icily.

"Oh, you know. The froggy stuff," the customer said.

At once the tension disappeared.

"Amphibian dust!" cried Lee, laughing. "Of course. I mean yes. Yes, on the shelf behind you."

"Oh, thank you."

The customer paid for his purchase, and left the store followed by a chorus of "come again!" from the owners. The door shut with a click, and the scream bell became silent again.

"We are so paranoid," chuckled George, as the other two boys burst into laughter.

"How crazy of us to think he really meant _that,_" Lee said. "Can you imagine."

Another round of laugher. "You worry too much, guys," George said. "Söme's a secret, and there's no cause even to worry, so long as Harry doesn't get involved. The kid's a You-Know-Who magnet, but he's at school now. The secret is safe."

"And at any rate, we'll know soon." Fred held up the letter. "This evening we'll get our answers. And when we do…"

"There'll be trouble." George finished.

When the boys got to Hogwarts, they were ushered quickly and silently in by Professor McGonagall, who brought them through the back door and up several winding sets of stairs. It wasn't long before they found themselves in a strange tower—strange, because they'd never seen it before. Strange, there wasn't a portrait in sight. Strange, not even the sound of bats could be heard in the cold cavernous place. As the boys followed the silent McGonagall, they were sharply aware of the harsh echo their footsteps made in the empty tower. Lee even began to wonder if the tower existed at all as part of Hogwarts, but before he could think too much about it, the professor stopped abruptly, and they saw before them a door, guarded by none other than Severus Snape.

The only light in the room came from a solitary candle, set in the middle of a small square table. It cast its flickering illuminations on McGonagall's stern face as she stood at the far side, and nodded for them to sit. Lee, Fred, and George nervously took their places at the remaining three chairs.

_It's like a really bad detention_, Lee thought.

The sound of the door sliding shut and locks clicking into place came from behind their backs. A soft flare came from Snape's wand as he muttered a spell, and the professor took his place against the wall, standing behind McGonagall, his arms crossed over his chest.

"I'm sorry if I've frightened you with all these precautions," McGonagall said, sitting and folding her hands on the table. "But Söme is worthy of all measures we could take. We've used this room as a top secret meeting place for years, and in the days of the Voldemort's reign of terror—yes, you need not worry about speaking that name in here—in those days, it proved its impenetrability even when he was at the pinnacle of his power. So no matter what happens, this room, I assure you has been made safe. And this new thing, Söme…well…" she glanced to Snape. "Severus?"

Snape stepped forward, into the light. "This powder will be the downfall of humanity if it escapes. Even a word of it could mean the end of our race," he said simply, his usual sneering manner gone, though his voice still bore the underlying tones of hatred, sharpened by the new danger the boys had put him in.

The boys sat unmoving, waiting for him to go on. They should have reacted somehow, they knew, but the news, though suspected, was too shocking to be accepted at once.

"I suspect you all know exactly how to make it now," Snape continued, "and there is nothing we can do to protect you from the danger of knowing. If the existence of Söme is discovered, you will be hunted, and Minerva decided it would be best if your memories were not charmed. She said that if you knew the thing you were trying to hide, you would be better able to resist any probing. She said it would give you the strength you need to fight it, and to withstand the torture—yes, torture. And I agree with her."

"Thank you, Severus," McGonagall said, when it was clear he was done.

"Of course it'd dangerous," she continued. "Much more than it seems. Everything in your lab that did not have a soul was completely obliterated, and that is something you cannot overlook. That is the key, though," she said. "Souls. Matter is easy to destroy, it seems, but it appears to have difficulty penetrating auras. That's why you still had your clothes when you woke up. They were protected by your aura, which extends a few inches beyond your physical body. It was an important factor we considered in drawing this conclusion. The fact that the mice—living things—and your clothes—nonliving things—were gone or stayed was the key. We are now quite certain this theory is correct."

"But why is that so bad?" George broke in. "If it doesn't affect human souls, than it's no use to him."

"Not quite."

"What?"

"Look at what a thimbleful did to you three boys. Just a thimble was enough to knock you unconscious for who knows how long? And when you woke up, your memories had been affected to the point that you didn't even know your own identities. If such a small amount has that sort of power, think of what a larger quantity could do. Twice that amount would have probably killed you. Triple it and there would certainly not be the smallest atom of yourselves left for anyone to identify or know what had become of you. You three have no idea how luck you are."

"We do now," said Fred in amazement. Lee put his head in his hands, breathing a tense sigh.

"The true danger in this," Snape said, leaning in again, "is that it takes incredibly little to cause a lot of damage, so it's very efficient. Just a truckfull would be enough to wipe out all of Hogwarts. Tell me, how easy would it be to produce one truckfull?" he asked.

"Simple." Fred said in awe. "Anyone could do it, if anyone knew how."

Snape hung his head, and McGonagall clenched her fist on the table.

"This must never get out," she whispered.

"We know."

Not so far away, a few miles outside Hogsmede, a traveler cloaked in black made his way steadily Southward. One more step, he told himself. Keep walking. One step at a time.

His feet were freezing, and his thick cloak could barely keep out the cold wind that came down from the mountains. He clutched at the edges with numb fingers, breathing on them now and then, praying they wouldn't frostbite. No sane wizard would ever endure such torture, he thought bitterly, as he pressed on with the wind. No sane witch or wizard would ever be fool enough to go through it without magic. But he wasn't a sane wizard. In fact, he wasn't a wizard at all.


	2. The Rich Man's Debt

"Fred! Guess what?" called George, as his brother walked in to the shop after nipping off to the Leaky Cauldron.

"What?" asked Fred, setting two glass bottle on the counter. He took a swig from the open one in his hand.

"We just got an order for 700 boxes of Worple Warts from a customer in Bulgaria!"

Fred eyes widened and he began to cough, slamming the bottle on the counter with one hand as he clasped the other over his mouth. "_What?_" He gasped, between coughs.

"700 orders. I know. I reacted the same when Lee told me."

"You inhaled about a liter of soda into your lungs?" Fred wheezed, grasping the edge of the counter, his eyes watering as he looked up.

George gave his brother a few quick thumps on the back, and went on. "He was planning on sending some to his nieces and nephews, because he heard about their popularity here. I guess he either likes them a lot, or is trying to bribe them into likeing him. He spoke of the money like it was nothing."

Another owl hit the storefront glass.

"Again?" asked George, moving to scoop up the dazed bird from the sidewalk.

"Who washes those windows?" asked Fred.

The twins both shrugged.

"Hey, this is addressed to Lee!" George shouted, picking up the letter.

Lee poked his head out from the back room, where they stocked extra supplies, as well as the newest advancement in Muggle technology—a "typewriter." He'd been filling out an order form of their most recent purchase. "What about Lee?" he asked. "I heard my name."

George held up the letter, and with a wave of Fred's wand, it jumped out of his hands and landed in Lee's.

"Read it," Fred said.

Lee opened the letter, and quickly read over it. "Uh-oh, guys." He said.

"What?"

"It's from my Mom. She says my cousin she's been watching is going to be staying with me for a week."

"That's not that bad, is it?" George asked. "I mean, we haven't had much customers anyway, so—"

"You don't understand!" Lee cut in. "Listen, her nickname is Crazy Sybil, and she's 12, but she's already taking fourth year classes in Ravenclaw."

Fred whistled.

"She's got these crazy premonitions, and she knows more about the famous witches and wizards of England than anyone else I know of. The girl's absolutely crazy." He groaned.

"Yeah," agreed George, leaning against a display of Puking Pastilles. "Who'd want to know stuff like that?"

"Exactly."

"When's she coming?" asked Fred, tossing Lee one of the bottles from the Leaky Cauldron.

"One o'clock today."

George looked at the clock on the wall, then back at Lee, confused. "It's one o'clock right now," he said. "Or at least it will be in—"

A loud crack sounded in the shop.

"No apparating!" they said together, angrily pointing to the sign.

"Sorry, Lee. But you should really consider that no one can see the sign until they're already here. Anyway, your mum told me to." The newly apparated girl said, tossing her curly yellow hair over her shoulder.

"Since when can you apparate, Sybil?" asked Lee.

"Oh, I learned it this summer. Cool, huh? Mum didn't want to have to take me places all the time, so she arranged I learn it. I got permission from Dumbledore and the New Ministry and everything."

"She _must_ be smart," whispered Fred to his brother.

It was a rather loud whisper, and Sybil probably heard it, but if she had, she didn't acknowledge it. She felt she'd outgrown pride when she was in second grade.

"So, what are we going to do this week? Since you're not in school anymore, maybe you can show me around? I'm too young to go places by myself, but you're 18 this year! How about a trip to—"

"No trips, Sybil," Lee said. "We're going to stay here and mind the store. I'm a working man now."

Sybil rolled her eyes. "And _I'm_ Lucille Scott."

"Who?"

As he neared the mansion, he was almost certain his fingers would require amputation, it was so cold. Off the mountain it was a lot better, but since Hogsmede was in a valley, it got a lot of cold winds, and with the onset of winter, the chill was almost unbearable to stay outside as long as he had. But he was almost there. He tried to quicken his pace, but his blood had slowed too much to move very quickly. Still, he had to get there. He could see his destination, he could smell the heat of the wood-burning fire, and he could hear the savage bark of the pit bulls behind their barbed fence. Floodlights immediately switched on, and the black-cloaked traveler had to shield his eyes from it. Pain exploded in his head as his pupils dilated. After the pitch black of night, and after the trailing journey in the cold, the pain was intolerable.

With a chain of loud explosive pops, the bulbs shattered and fell sizzling to ground, plunging his world into darkness again. The traveler gave a relaxing sigh, as his eyelids fluttered down. He could feel the pain fading away, like the cloud of his breath in the icy wind.

As he approached the door, the dogs quickly silenced themselves and bowed their heads, as they tried to tuck their stump tails between their legs. Several whimpered, and one wet himself.

The traveler gave three sharp knocks on the door with his boot.

"Open the bloody door," he muttered, rubbing his hands furiously, and trying to resist the urge to tear the door from its hinges.

Just as he was about to do it, the door opened.

"God damn you bloody wizards," the traveler scowled, shoving aside the owner of the house and shrugging off the coat as he headed for the fire.

The owner stood gasping against the wall where he had been pushed. He couldn't speak, except for a word, and a lot of stuttering. "You…" he gasped, shocked, and frightened beyond belief.

"Shut up and close the bloody door," came the voice from the figure crouched by the fire, his fingers only a few inches from the flames. He gave a sniff.

"You're cold," the man beside the door said, finding his voice.

"How'd you figure that out?"

"Let me get you something to drink." He slammed the door shut again.

"Something hot," suggested the traveler.

"Certainly." He hurried to the kitchen and filled a mug with water. "_Caliente,"_ he said, tapping it with his wand, and stirring in a few spoons of cocoa mix.

When he brought it to his guest, the man only nodded and set the cup on the hearth. He wasn't stupid enough to gulp a steaming cup of hot cocoa no matter how cold he was.

"So…" began the owner of the house. "I guess I know why you're here, and um…" he ran a hand though his clean, styled hair. "Listen, just give me a few more days!" he pleaded. "I don't have the money with me right now, but I know I can get it, I just need more time!"

The traveler continued to stare into the fire, seemingly hypnotized.

The indebted man looked uneasily at him, waiting nervously for a reply.

When it came, the traveler's voice was smooth and controlled, its previous anger forgotten in the hypnotism of the flame. "Seems to me that you've no lack of money, Good."

Mr. Good winced. Please, not his property.

"However, that's not what I came to ask for. Right now all I want is a bed. I've had a hard journey, and I can't bear to talk to you right now. Fetch me as many blankets as you can find, and no matter what happens, don't disturb me until noon tomorrow. I'm a tired man, and I've earned my rest.

"She's from _where_?" asked Fred again, as they were closing the shop.

"Germany," Lee said. "Her parents are from Africa and The United States, but they were raised in England, and she was born in Belgium, but was raised and lives in Germany."

"Why doesn't she have a German accent, then?"

"Because her parents were raised in England and spoke _English_," he said, irritably. "And since in Germany they speak German, she learned English from her parents, and picked up their accent. That's what they speak at home, too, so she knows it as well as you do."

"Oh," Fred said, trying to work out who was from what country. "Gotcha."

"Just keep sweeping," Lee said. "Our mums are off somewhere together, so my aunt left her with me. She's home alone right now."

"Yeah, but you said she's mature."

"She is. Just…"

"Fred! Lee!" cried George, from the back room. "Look at this!" He rushed to meet them, shoving a piece of parchment into their faces.

"It came today, when Sybil was here."

Fred snatched the letter out of his hand, and his eyes darted back and forth across the print, widening as he read. "No!"

"What?" asked Lee, his mind running over countless possibilities, mostly involving Söme. "Who's it from?"

"It's the Department of Businesses. We need to make a payment on our shop, and we need the money by Thursday," George said solemnly. "The cost is 400 galleons."

"What!" cried Lee, unable to control his surprise.

"But the initial cost of the shop was 900, and we paid that! We're going to have to make _400 galleon_ payments every month? For how long?"

George shook his head. "I think two years. Diagon property is high on the market, and we were warned about this when we bought the place."

"That's so unfair, though!" Fred moaned. "We just started this buisness! We've only begun to pay off the other starting costs, like production, displays, and the glowing sign! Not to mention the fact that about 100 galleons of stuff was destroyed when our lab—"

"SHH!" George and Lee hissed urgently.

"Anyway, we don't have the money," Fred went on. "Once we pay off those costs I expect we can get it pretty quick, but we haven't had time for that yet. We need to talk to the ministry."

"But we're just kids to them!" Lee pointed out.

"No, Lee." Fred said. "You said it yourself to Sybil—we're buisness owners."

"You're up?" cried Mr. Good, when he reached the bottom of the stairs and discovered his guest already awake, dressed, and sitting in his favorite chair, reading the Daily Prophet. He glanced quickly at the window and saw the sun was just barely over the treetops. He hadn't overslept—it was just after dawn.

The guest lowered his paper ever so slightly to peer over it at his host who stood at the steps, his expression a blend of confusion and disbelief. "What?" he asked. "I thought I told you not to disturb me until noon."

Mr. Good shook his head, overcoming his surprise. "Aren't you tired, after your long journey?" he asked. "You can't have had more than five hours of sleep! Surely you are exhausted."

"No," the guest said simply, raising his paper with a deliberate rustle.

"Why not? Is it because you're a--"

"You ask too many questions, young man."

"I'm 24."

"You're young."

Mr. Good's shoulders sagged in disappointment. He wasn't used to being made to feel inferior. He was rich. Nobody questioned the rich.

"Go on, get out of here." The guest growled.

Mr. Good obeyed, and went into the kitchen to see what the house elves had prepared for his breakfast.

At noon, Mr. Good rapped on his guest's bedroom door. He'd seen owls going in and out the window all day, and when the man emerged, he spoke little, and quickly went back to his correspondence. Though suspicious, Mr. Good knew enough not to ask questions. He'd known his guest for many years, though he'd only seen him on occasion. He tried to avoid encounters because of the debt he owed, for he never seemed to be able to collect all the money at once. His guest often held that against him, and the perpetual reminders weighed heavily on Good's mind. He was afraid the man would grow impatient, and take the cost out of his property.

In fact, he was afraid of the man in general. He wasn't a wizard—that was clear, for he was very vocal about the fact, and voiced his contempt for wizards loudly and often. What kind of magic he had, though, Good didn't know. He could only guess that it was powerful, and its limits were unknown, because the man refused to talk about it. Good feared him in his anger, but he had to face him despite that, and try his best not to make him mad.

His knock earned no reply, and Mr. Good decided to try again, louder. _Knock knock knock._ Still no reply. He raised his fist to knock a third time, but suddenly, just as it begun its descending arc, the door opened.

The guest had thrown the door open, however, and was standing to the side, as though he'd been expecting the knock.

"I'm sorry, sir!" exclaimed Good as he saw him there. "I didn't think you were coming, and I almost hit you," he apologized.

"No need for apologies, Good." Said the man. "You didn't hit me."

Mr. Good looked nervously to the side. He wanted to ask what had been going on, but fear held him back. He could see no sign of anything strange in the room. "You wanted to talk to me, sir?" he said clumsily instead. "It's past noon now, and…"

"Oh, yes," he said. "I remember. Come, make a fire and we will discuss it downstairs."

Mr. Good prepared the room with a few swift flicks of his wand and some quiet incantations. There were soon two velvet upholstered chairs pulled up alongside the fire, which was roaring in the fireplace where previously there had been only ash.

"Draw the drapes," the man told him, his voice starkly serious.

Mr. Good did as he was told, and the light was choked out from the room, only creeping in though a few open edges where the cloth did not quite meet the border. It cast long, thin bars of light across the room, which besides the fire became the only source of light.

"The doors," said the stranger.

Good shut them. Their locks slid into place.

When he was content the room was secure, the man sat down in one of the chairs, his back to the window, and motioned for Good to sit as well. "I expect you have your own suspicions of why I've come here," he began solemnly. "Probably they've all to do with money. Well, you're wrong."

Good sighed, his relief evident.

"They've only _partly_ to do with money," the man continued. "That is, the 11,000 galleons you owe me."

Good's face paled. Even in the shadowy light, his disappointment was hard to miss. It was as bad as he'd suspected. The man said partly though. That meant there was more, he thought grimly, and listened.

"I need your help in a very important matter, and it will cost us both, but I believe it is worth it." The man continued. "You don't know much about my powers. I've never been a wizard, as you've figured out. I wasn't raised as a wizard either, but I was… adopted into it, I guess you could say. And the one who rescued me from the muggle world, the one who nurtured my powers until I was strong enough to survive here, the one who accepted me even though I didn't have your magic, became my savior, and in time, my master.

"The nature of my powers is a mystery even to me. I know what it can and can't do, and to an extent, how it works, of which I will tell you only a little. I disclose only as much as is necessary for others to know, and if they must know too much, then I in turn must kill them. Understand, it is not out of malice that I do this, but out of protection. If the mechanics of my powers became known, than people could learn how to exploit its weaknesses, and for the sake of my master, and his friends, I can not tolerate such a possibility."

The man looked at Good with a startled expression, concern in his eyes. "Breathe, lad!" he exclaimed.

Remembering himself, Mr. Good exhaled the breath he'd been unconsciously holding, and gave a small involuntary shiver.

"Don't worry, dear friend, I will not tell you much," the man assured him.

Since when had this man ever called Good a friend? His words didn't comfort him, for though he claimed he would say little, Good thought that he had already said too much. How could he think that he would not guess from the man's description that he had been taken in by Voldemort? The master and his friends, for whom the man must kill people in order to protect seemed a little too familiar to be passed off as anything else. Surely, he must know this, and if he did, wouldn't he already have to kill him? Good worried.

"You've chosen an excellent point to begin," the man continued. "The first aspect of my magic, and the one I noticed right away, was the ability to read people's minds. That is how I know that I have nothing to fear from telling you openly I serve and love Lord Voldemort. You will not tell, because you know how we can kill you, and we will not hesitate to do it. I read it in your mind, and I know you are aware of it as well. Though often useful, it is a hazy ability at times, for if the person is near me, I can sense their general ideas and emotions strongly, though not very acutely. At a distance, I can pick up vague information, but sometimes a specific person's mind will come to me with great strength, drowning out all the other images. Still, this is unclear, but oftentimes when I get their ideas, I can figure out the specifics on my own.

"A few weeks ago, I was in the mountains, for a reason I cannot name, and I received an image stronger than any I'd had for months. One word came to mind when I saw it, and I had a name for the feeling: evil. I climbed the mountain higher, not knowing whether it would help, but hoping it would help me to receive this person's thoughts more clearly. I was three weeks before I found the mind again. I found it was that of a boy, and he had been brooding silently in his bed over this thing." The man laughed. "They'd taken such precautions that we would not know," he said. "Secret meetings and guarded words. They knew their words could betray them, but they never suspected their thoughts."

Good shifted his weight nervously. A boy? He didn't like the direction of this conversation.

"What I ask of you now, Good, is that you get me a kilogram of this stuff called Söme. Go about it in whatever ways you like, from the most honest, to the cruelest thing you can imagine. I don't care. I want the Söme, and if you get it for me, I will erase your debt completely. I hope that will be enough of a bribe to earn your service? If it is not, hopefully the knowledge that I will kill you otherwise will be sufficient, but I already know that is not going to be necessary. So, Good. What is your choice?"

He called this a choice? Good couldn't think of anything to say. It seemed that he would descend to the morality of a death eater if he did it, but the alternative was none too pleasant either, and his debt… well, his debt didn't seem so important anymore.

"Well, Mr. Wizard?" the death eater asked, a cruel smile on his face. "What do you say?"

Good looked into his face, silhouetted by the covered windows, and distorted by the flickering shadows of the fire, which robbed his features of all humanity. Suddenly he saw the man transformed as a demon, his small, razor-like teeth bared in an impish smile, and his eyes lit with a hellish glow. He imagined he heard the sound of the devil's laugher. _There is no way out!_ Came its shrill cry. Good covered his ears. It didn't matter—the death eater could hear inside his head anyway.

The man laughed. Pure, human laugher it was, without a hint of malice, and it blended with the demon's voice, but at the same time captured Good's ears and pulled him back to the reality before him. "Good," he said, as his laughter died away. "You have five seconds to make your choice." He was bent over in his chair, elbows on his knees, his chin resting on interlaced fingers.

Good sat up straight, his eyes darted to the side.

"One."

There wasn't a choice.

"Two."

Fate was cruel—cruel and heartless.

"Three."

"I'll do it!" he cried.

Silence.

The guest smiled.

"Somehow, I knew you'd say that."

"Ok, ok, let me get this straight," George said, giggling. "Idiot in German is 'der idiot?'"

Sybil nodded, and the twins fell into another bout of laughter.

"So could I say 'Snape ist der idiot?'"

"Snape er ein idiot," Sybil corrected. "Yes. But not to his face!" all three of them laughed this time.

"You know Snape?" asked George, surprised.

"Yeah! Didn't you hear, George, that she's an exchange student at Hogwart's this year? That's why she's in the area," Fred said. "Right?"

"Right," Sybil said.

"Why'd you come at this time?" George asked. "With the You-Know-Who revival going on and the Azkaban escapees, and the Ministry of Magic incidents? It's definitely not the time _I_ would have chosen. And it's a wonder your parents let you, too! My mum would go nuts."

"Well, my parents had been panning it for a long time," she said. "And they felt I'd be safe at Hogwarts, with Dumbledore there, so they didn't want to call it off." Sybil giggled. "Know what my favorite thing about Hogwarts is?"

Fred and George exchanged looks. The expression she had on her face lead them to believe it was not "the food."

"I get to go to school with _Harry Potter!_" She squealed, jumping with glee. "He's so cool, and not to mention _cute_!"

"You've got a crush on Harry?" asked Fred.

"Yes! Are you kidding? All the second _and_ fourth year girls do. He's so cute."

"Oh." Fred said.

"Have you ever talked to him before?" Sybil asked eagerly.

"Well, um… we may have had a passing word once or twice, yes."

Sybil clasped her hands. "Lucky!"

"Yeah, well… I don't think he's that cute," Fred muttered.

"Oh." Sybil said. "Right."

"Why aren't you at Hogwarts, Sybil?" George asked. "It's not holiday."

"Well, yes, I know. But my mum wanted me to spend some time with the family as long as we're in England. I've been doing my schoolwork at home."

"Don't you miss Snape?" teased Fred. "_Oh, he's so cute!_" Fred clasped his hands together and sighed. George laughed as Sybil hit him.

"Hey!" she protested. "That's gross, Fred!"

"Sybil and Slimeball, sittin' in a tree! K-I-S-S—"

"CUT IT OUT!"

"Hey guys, what's going on in there?" called Lee from the back office, where he was typing out order forms.

"Nothing!" Sybil, Fred, and George shouted in unison.

"Lee's no fun," Sybil whispered.

"What do you mean?" asked George.

"I mean he's always so serious! He'd never do something like this."

Fred scoffed. "Lee? Naw!"

"Sure he would," said George. "Lee's hilarious! You should've seen him when he used to announce for quidditch games!"

Fred laughed. "I hear the new announcer's been trying hard to live up to him. Lee sure revolutionized the announcement there. Gosh, that guy's a hero. If I still went to Hogwarts, I'd miss him."

"Are you talking about my Lee?" Sybil said in disbelief. "I can't picture it."

"How long've you known him? If you lived in Germany your whole life, well… Lee's been _here_. If you've only seen him a few times every couple of years, maybe you just need some time to really get to know him." George said.

"Yeah!" agreed Fred. "He probably needs some time to warm up to you."

"But—"

"Just give him a chance. It's obvious you haven't met the real Lee."

Sybil frowned. The real Lee? He'd seemed so anxious lately, she guessed something was wrong, but couldn't bring herself to ask what. She thought he resented her for having to stay with him, but from what the twins said, he didn't seem like that kind of person. What could make him so nervous all the time, she wondered? And how, then, would he ever get past it and open up to her, as the twins said he would. What a puzzle boys could be.

Suddenly, a blood-curdling scream sounded in the store.

"Customer!" whispered the twins to each other with excitement. Sybil rolled her eyes.

A man dressed in fine robes came into the store, his head down as he stared at a piece of paper in his hand. He looked around the store uncertainly and tucked the paper away, striding up to the counter with lotr-elven grace. Sybil's mouth dropped, and the man, noticing, flashed her an adorable smile, his grey eyes glinting for a moment. Then he looked down shyly again. "I'm looking for Lee Jordan," he said to Sybil and the twins, who were at the counter. "Is he in?"

"Sure," George said, pointing to the back room. "Want me to get him? HEY, LEE!"

There was no answer. "Lee?" George asked again, poking his head through the door. He turned back to the man at the counter. "Huh, I guess he isn't anymore. Should I leave him a message?"

The man paused, thinking, and shook his head. "No," he said. "I'll come back tomorrow." He turned to leave, but when he was almost out the door, he turned around. "Say, you wouldn't happen to have heard of a thing called _S__öme_, would you?" he said hastily, holding the door.

"What?" squeaked George, trying to contain his surprise. His heart beat so fast he thought it might explode.

"Ah, no. Didn't think so. Sorry," the man said. "Forget it." And he was gone.

"He knew about Söme?!" cried Lee when he got back and the twins told him. Sybil had been sent on errands for groceries, quills, wand wax, and other various supplies that would require her to go all around the town to find. Lee panicked. "How's that possible?"

"I don't know, he just knew!" said Fred.

"What're we going to do?" wailed Lee, on the verge of hyperventilating. "This can't be happening!"

"We're going to have to tell McGonagall or Snape, or… or Moody or somebody," George said. "This is too big to handle by ourselves."

"I wish Dumbledore was here," Fred sighed.

"We'll have to go to Hogwarts tonight or tomorrow," said Lee decisively. "We can't just stay here and wait for him to come back."

"But Hogwarts is locked up!" Fred protested. "Without Hagrid to help us in this time there's no way we'll get through. Our best bet is to send a letter to McGonagall."

"But by the time a reply gets through he'll be here," Lee argued. "That's too late!"

"Yeah," George agreed. "I don't like his looks. Let's just get out of here. Even if we can't get into Hogwarts, at least we won't be here."

"What about Sybil?" Lee asked. "We can't leave her at the store with that strange man around."

"We'll have to take her with, then, or leave her at home," said Fred.

"She'd ask questions."

"Fine, then she'll come along. You can tell her something like we're picking up a potion or something for the store."

"No," said Lee. "She's too perceptive. There's no way we'd all be able to convincingly hide our anxiety."

"Fine, well, it's up to you, whatever you chose to tell her," Fred sighed. "She's your cousin."

"Ok," Lee said, resigned. "I guess I'll have to tell her a bit of the truth, then. Not enough to hurt her, just enough to stop her questions. Let's close shop, and leave when she gets back."

It was only five minutes before she did get back, though she'd only found half the things and then lost the list and had to return.

"Sybil," Lee said, when she arrived. "Can you come with me, love? I've something important to tell you."

"Okay," Sybil said, confused, as Lee took her by the hand and lead her to the back room, where he shut the door. "What's going on, Lee?" she asked.

"Something's come up," he said gravely. "The twins and I accidently discovered something dangerous a few weeks ago, and now we need to go to Hogwarts, because what we found might not be a secret for much longer. We have to leave tonight."

"Oh," Sybil said, frowning. "How long will we be gone?"

"At least to tomorrow night," he said. "Why?"

"You'll never guess who came to the store today," she said, quickly forgetting the seriousness of the situation.

"Who?" Lee said, his brow furrowing.

"The richest man in Hogswash, the most brilliant person in London, and the most handsome man in the entire U.K." Sybil sighed. "Elisha Good."

"Really?"

"Yes, and he's coming back tomorrow!" she said, clasping her hands over her heart. "I was too speechless today, but when he comes back I'm going to get his autograph. Do you know him? He was asking for you."

The mysterious customer! "Um… no. But we can't stay and wait for him. We have to leave tonight, and it's very important that you don't speak a word about this." He said, placing both hands on her shoulders for effect. "Do you understand? We could be killed."

"I don't understand, Lee," Sybil said, backing away. "I don't understand what's going on, or why you're acting like this. But I'll keep quiet."

Lee sighed in relief. "Thank you," he said.

Sybil opened the door. "You guys can't apparate," she said, realizing.

"We'll have to make due," George said. "If you want to apparate and meet us, you can, but we're taking the night bus, then walking. It's almost half past seven, so the bus should be just starting its route."

"I'll come with you," Sybil said. "Best not to get split up, especialy if things are as dangerous as you say."

"Let's go then," Fred said. "Grab your coats guys."

It wasn't long before they'd caught the Night Bus and were on a ride none of them would soon forget.

"I think I'm going to throw up," groaned George, as the bus screeched to a stop for a passing animal.

"Fred? George?" Lee said, lowering his voice. "Have you ever heard of a celebrity by the name of Elisha Good?"

"No," Fred said. "What's he look like?"

"Extremely hot, apparently," groaned Lee. Light brown hair, blue sometimes grey eyes, well dressed, cute smile?"

"Um… is there something you're trying to tell us, Lee?" Fred asked. "I mean, not that it would make me think any different of you, but—"

"This is what Sybil told me," he said. "I don't fancy men, thanks."

"Ok, well, just checking," Fred apologized.

"Anyway, I found out from Sybil that he was at the store today, asking for me. Now does the description ring a bell?"  
"That guy was a famous person?" gasped Fred. "Wow!"

"What did he want with Söme?" wondered George.

"Probably he's a death eater," Lee said. "What else?"

"A cute death eater?" George said, with a laugh.

"Sybil was upset that she wouldn't be around tomorrow to get his autograph."

"Well, we're going to be out of here when he comes around again. Hopefully that'll be the last chance she gets to talk to him."

"Yeah," George agreed. "Hopefully."

The Night bus was able to take the four children as far as Hogsmede, and from there they didn't have trouble getting into Hogwart's grounds. They were familiar with all the old ways, and it was not as heavily guarded as they'd thought it would be. However, it was late by the time they arrived, and the castle would certainly be locked up for the night. Hagrid, fortunately was still up, and happy to offer to take them in for a second time.

It seemed like they had just closed their eyes when Hagrid came to wake them up the next morning.

"Wake up," he said, shaking them. "You don't want to miss breakfast."

The twins and Lee all hurried off to the castle, leaving Hagrid and Sybil behind, unable to keep up.

"Now how do yeh like that," said Hagrid, watching them go.

"Oh, don't blame them," Sybil said. "They've got urgent buisness. That's why they came here. There's something strange going on, and it's got them all very afraid. I don't know what it is, but I aim to find out."

"Ah. Well, that's okay, then, as long as it's not plain ingratitude. They look like their tail's on fire."

Sybil watched as they went in through the castle's side door, and dissapeared. "No," she said. "I suspect it's something much worse than that."


End file.
